


Let It Go

by Carrogath



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Family Drama, Love Triangles, Multi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-15
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 10:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cordelia's future self is a homewrecker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

I.

 

Lucina was very nearly the spitting image of her father: she carried herself like him, spoke like him, fought using the same sword and the same style. Albeit, she was pretty in a feminine way, lithe and slender and svelte. Her outwardly girlish appearance helped to distinguish her from her father—her father, who was all bulk and muscle and brute strength, and the only person Cordelia had had eyes for for the longest time. Strangely enough, Lucina was also about as strong as her father. She had to wonder where all that power was coming from. It certainly couldn’t all be in those skinny little arms.

It seemed to her that Lucina tried to act like her father too, perhaps force of habit from her apocalyptic future, wherein his only legacy was a sword and the child he had left behind; not even the halidom had survived. Perhaps acting like him gave her strength. Maybe she thought she was channeling him, this future Chrom. Cordelia briefly tried to imagine what Chrom would look like a decade and a half from now—older, wiser, handsomer. Maybe his hairstyle would change. She always thought it looked a little too long. The stray curls and cowlicks suited Lucina somehow, though. She just let it grow out; she had other things to worry about. Haircuts were a luxury of more peaceful times.

Then Cordelia felt bad for reconstructing the past (or would that be constructing the future? It was always so hard to tell). That was something private, secret; under normal circumstances you wouldn’t ask someone about that, although she had a sense that Lucina would be willing to share, because sometimes it helped to discuss it, so that you wouldn’t feel as if you were going at it all on your own.

She didn’t feel terribly guilty about asking about Lucina’s hair, and if one topic led to another, then all the better.

 

 -

“My hair?” Lucina said, unconsciously twisting her finger round a thick lock. It was the exact same shade as her father’s. Cordelia refrained from reaching out and touching it. This was more awkward than she had anticipated. She had rarely spoken to Lucina outside of brief, polite conversations, during which she was completely guarded, and, as she recalled, maybe even a little anxious.

“Is there any reason you keep it so long?” _To distinguish yourself as a girl_ , Cordelia thought. It wasn’t exactly a stretch to think of her as androgynous given her dress, and her face would betray nothing; with short hair, and her voice just a pitch lower, she could disguise herself as a male youth—which is exactly what she had done. It didn’t make things any simpler, either.

She blinked. “No. I suppose not.” She kept looking at her own hair. She was probably wondering what Cordelia found so remarkable about it.

It was almost evening, and the skies were painted red and orange and purple. Against the light, there was a thin, healing scar along Lucina’s cheekbone: one single, visible brush with death. Cordelia found her gaze being constantly drawn toward it, and she tried not to stare.

She felt awfully tired, trying to be the example for everyone. She had lived, toiling for the sake of other people’s approval, for so long, that when she finally recognized her feelings it was like a slap in the face, a wake-up call to all the things she had been deprived of. All those buried emotions—of resentment toward her fellow recruits, of passion burning white-hot, of shame and anger first directed toward herself and then slowly, blooming ever outward—she managed to neatly compact into her obsession with Chrom. She was perfect in every sense save for the fact that her love was unrequited. The idea was neat, simple, and tidy: just the way she liked it. It was perfect. Just like her.

Something dull and familiar ached in her chest. She started to stare. Then she pulled her gaze away. She rubbed her eyes. She was tired and not tired at the same time. She felt antsy.

“Are you sleepy?” Lucina asked, then paused. “You know, I always see you helping out. It’s a wonder you’re even able to fight; you’re always up on your feet.”

“But you’re the same way, aren’t you?” Cordelia replied automatically. “You never stop to take a breath.”

“Are you calling me a hypocrite?”

“We’re all hypocrites, in one way or another.” Cordelia flashed a wry smile. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Lucina’s mouth twisted into a frown. It was the kind of expression Chrom would never make. “Are you certain?”

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Well, it’s just that...” She hesitated. “You’re always avoiding him—my father—and...”

“It’s all right, Lucina, really.” She flashed another, smaller smile. She wondered whether she had ever gotten over Chrom in the future, or if she had continued to pine after him until her own untimely death. She desperately hoped it was the former.

Lucina’s gaze was that of a wary animal—a fawn, perhaps, or maybe a stag suited her better. A fawn would just run away. A stag might actually charge. “Take care of yourself.” Those were words Cordelia had echoed to others many times. “And I mean it.” It sounded like a threat, but coming from her, it wasn’t something she could take to heart.

Although she couldn’t relinquish the feeling, Cordelia felt bad. It wasn’t as if Lucina had no idea what she was talking about.

 

 -

The next day, sometime in the afternoon, someone—Vaike, or maybe it was was Virion—found her passed out on top of her pegasus, lance on the ground. They carried her to the medical tent, laid her down on a bedroll, and checked her temperature. She was informed, when finally awake, that she was running a high fever. They told her to stay in bed, and that if they ever caught her walking around today they would knock her out and drag her back inside.

She wondered if Lucina had noticed a flush in her cheeks yesterday and had simply refrained from mentioning it. In any case, Cordelia doubted she would have acknowledged the fact anyway; she worked no matter how terrible felt, because that was all she knew how to do. She sweated in her clothes, and she felt nauseous. Her mind felt alarmingly empty. She thought about Chrom, and then about her husband, and then about Chrom again.

Her thoughts drifted repeatedly to Lucina, her obvious concern, and the family resemblance to Chrom. They were one and the same, Lucina and her father. Cordelia was concerned that she wouldn’t be able to distinguish between them, but then again, Lucina was slender and long-haired and obviously feminine, except for that one time she disguised herself as Marth and pretended to be a boy. She fell asleep to the thought of Chrom being a woman, and her loving him all the same.

She woke up shivering, her face coated in a sheen of sweat, and she felt miserable and ill. A little later someone—it was Lissa, she realized—wiped down her face and neck with a wet washcloth, and muttered something like, “This looks really bad... Hang in there, Cordelia; we can’t afford to lose you.” There was a bitter taste in her mouth, then. What would they ever do without her, she thought.

At some other point Severa, long hair swishing from side to side, came in to hurl insults at her and then cried and grasped her hand and told her not to leave again; she wasn’t allowed to. She couldn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cordelia murmured. “It’s just a fever. It’ll pass.”

Severa stared at her with violent red eyes, chin high, gaze set. “Don’t you dare die on me,” she hissed. “I’ll never forgive you if you do.”

She meant it. For all the things she didn’t mean, Cordelia could tell that this time she did. She squeezed Severa’s hand. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time.” Severa’s voice quavered. “And you never came back.”

“So much for being the perfect mother, huh?” Cordelia laughed through a thick fever-haze. It sounded genuinely funny to her. She was anything but perfect, really—she was spiteful and hopeless and repressed, neither able to say what she wanted nor take it for her own. She was jealous of Severa. She would give the world to be as open as her. She loved Severa, although she hadn’t even had her yet; her unfamiliar, unconditional love was like a light shining in the darkness.

“Don’t say that,” she said. “You are perfect, because you’re _my_ mother.”

 

 -

She woke up again, in the early morning, to see Severa asleep by her side and Panne next her daughter, sitting completely still. She really did look like a rabbit.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Cordelia mumbled. She didn’t feel any different than yesterday. She was beginning to worry; maybe her condition was something serious.

“They’re always looking for you, you know, around camp.” Panne gestured outside the tent. “They ask, ‘Where’s Cordelia? What’s happened to her?’”

She laughed dryly. “They’re like spoiled children.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m disappointed to see this is the only way to get you to rest.” Her eyes flickered down to Severa. “This is your future daughter, is she not?”

“Severa? Yes... I suppose you two haven’t spoken very much?”

“Not particularly, no. But you know what she calls me?”

“What?”

“Aunt Panne.”

“Aunt... Does she really?” Severa had always been full of surprises; all the children had. But “Aunt...” “Are we really that close in the future?”

Panne shrugged. “I don’t see why we couldn’t be. Though I wasn’t expecting it myself.”

“It makes sense though,” said Cordelia, “since you’ve no warren to return to, you’ve got to make friends somehow.”

“It still sounds strange to my ears.”

“Oh, no, it strikes me as odd, too.”

“Then again...” she sighed, “gods know how my son grew up to be such a coward.”

“Yarne? Oh yes. He’ll fight when he needs to, but... I suppose he didn’t take after his mother very much, did he.”

“Honestly, even as insufferable as Severa can be sometimes, at least she’s still willing to fight. With Yarne, you have to grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him out onto the battlefield. And yet he still chooses to wear the taguel armor.” Panne shook her head. Her ears flopped. “He shouldn’t have.”

“It didn’t sound like he had much of a choice, though, in the future.”

“Well, if we manage to survive this war, I’ll see to it that my son doesn’t have to do anything so... unsuited to his personality.”

Cordelia slipped a hand out of her blankets and stroked Severa’s hair. She groaned and mumbled something, shuffling closer. “They’re nice though,” she said. “Our children, I mean. They’re so eager, so full of energy. They make me want to try my best, too.”

“That is the power of a second chance. You don’t take anything for granted anymore, not when you’ve lost everything.”

“I wonder if I was a good mother,” she said idly, and she thought of Severa, and wondered what Severa thought about Chrom—whether she liked Chrom because her mother did, or if she hated Chrom because he never realized how much Cordelia cared about him.

“Who knows? Severa says you were perfect.”

 

 -

Later in the day, she tried getting up out of bed. Her vision swayed in and out of focus, and her center of balance was off. She struggled even just to stand up; the world seemed to swim and lurch and move of its own accord.

She heard someone talking near the tent flaps. “...no, I wouldn’t want you to catch her sickness. We need you out there. No, there’s no reason for you to come in; if you need something I can get it for you. If you want to talk to her, you can do it later. She’s tired. She needs her rest. Please, Chrom, I know you’re trying to be nice, but not right now.” Then she heard footsteps moving away from the tent, and Sumia stepped in.

Her eyes widened. “Cordelia! Didn’t Lissa tell you to stay in bed?”

“I know...” she mumbled, “but it’s so... and I have nothing to do...”

Sumia walked over and pressed down on her shoulder. “Sit down, at least. You look like you’re going to fall over.”

“I’m sorry...” She sat down, obediently, on her bedroll.

Sumia knelt beside her. She stared at the tent flaps, and then looked back at Cordelia, examining her face intently.

“Is there something on my face?”

“No... No. You heard me talking to Chrom outside, didn’t you?”

“I understand why you did it. I wouldn’t want to make things awkward, either.”

“Well, you do seem rather sick, so he was concerned about you, but—then I started worrying that he would get sick, and...”

“You came in, though.”

“Well, I don’t care if I get sick, but we need Chrom to be at his best. He’s the one who’s always leading the charge, so I...”

“It’s all right, Sumia. Relax.”

Sumia scrunched her face, as if she were on the verge of tears. “Is it? Is it really?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she said, and through the filter of her fever-stricken mind, it almost sounded true.

“It’s because you never do anything for yourself, and—”

“I don’t do it because I don’t have to. I have friends like you who are going to take care of me, right?”

“Of course,” She set her mouth in a straight line. “I’d never abandon you. You know that. But...”

“You can’t feel guilty over something like that.”

“Just then...” Sumia said, “just then, it felt revolting. I don’t want to keep you away from him. I want you to be friends. But then I think about what I’ve done, and I feel like such a bad friend, and after everything you’ve done for me... I can’t do anything right, can I?”

Cordelia grinned. “You and everyone else, you’re all acting as if this fever is your fault. I mean, I suppose it could be, if it were one of Tharja’s hexes or something, but I doubt it...” She lost her train of thought. “What I mean is, it isn’t, and everyone needs to stop acting like it is.”

“But it is!” Sumia argued. “And we don’t! We expect you to do all sorts of things for us, because you like helping people, because it’s what you do. But then when you can’t, we don’t know what to do anymore. We’re all taking you for granted, aren’t we.” Cordelia thought she saw tears brimming in her eyes. “As if you couldn’t fall in battle at any moment.” Then the tears started to fall.

“Well, that’s how people survive, dear,” she said, wiping the tears away. “Sometimes things don’t always go the way we want them to.”

“But you’re my best friend,” she said. “It’s different.”

“No, you’re royalty. It isn’t.”

“I can be both.”

“Yes, you can. But you’re going to have trouble.”

“I don’t care,” she said firmly. “I feel like I’ve been so selfish around you.”

“He was the one that proposed to you, Sumia. I never even had the courage to speak to him.”

“But I should’ve...”

“You deserved it. All right? Even if you don’t believe it yourself, try to believe it for my sake.”

Sumia stared hard at her. Her eyes looked so dark. “You can’t stay like this forever, you know.”

“I know.”

Her daydreams were filled with ideas of what she would do once she was healthy again, unshackled from the chains of sickness. At some point, she decided that the first thing she ought to do was apologize to Lucina. She wasn’t even really sure why—but for some reason she figured it would clear her conscience.

 

  -

For some reason, around dinnertime that evening, she was expecting Lucina to come in. Her husband had already come in earlier that day to fret over her, so she was the only one Cordelia could reasonably expect to show up. Well, Lucina and Robin, but Robin was even busier than she. Their tactician already had plenty of other issues to juggle, though she did admit it would have been a pleasant surprise.

It wasn’t Lucina. It wasn’t Robin either.

“Cordelia, I am so sorry about Sumia. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.” He knelt down by her bedside.

“C-Chrom?” He was so _close_. She was definitely going to make him ill.

He smiled. She must have been dreaming still; this couldn’t be happening. “Everyone’s been so worried about you, I had to make sure I stopped by. You’re running a fever, right? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“N... No,” she said, looking away. “Lissa says I’m recovering at about the normal rate.”

“Are you sure? You’re always running from one place to another. I’ve never seen you take a break.” Now he sounded just like Lucina. Cordelia was certain her face was on fire, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the fever, either.

“You and everyone else,” she said, in a sudden fit of exasperation. “The army’s getting along just fine without me, isn’t it?”

“Well... Things are a little less convenient, or so I’ve been hearing. You’re a real asset, you know.”

“Asset,” she said under her breath.

Chrom frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

She shook her head. Hair fell into her face. “No. No, it’s nothing, really, Chrom. I’m fine. You don’t have to fuss over me.”

“I... I’m not,” he protested. “I care about everyone in this army. I’m not going to ignore you just because you tell me to. What sort of leader would that make me?” Every word coming out of his mouth hurt to hear. She was just one of the legion to him, wasn’t she.

“Well, as you can see,” she replied, and her patience was running thin, “I’ve gotten to the point where I’m able to eat without—where I can eat properly. That’s a sign of improvement, if nothing else.”

“Good. I’m glad.” His smile returned, briefly. Cordelia wanted it to stay there forever. “But Sumia...”

“You ought to know her well enough by now, Chrom. Give her a little more time.”

“You’re...” He furrowed his brow. “You two aren’t fighting or anything, aren’t you?”

“She’s certainly making it seem that way, isn’t she? She’s just beating herself up over something that wasn’t her fault. You know,” Cordelia nodded, “the usual.”

“Is...” He hesitated. “Is there anything I can do for you—either of you? For some reason, I feel as if this has something to do with me. I’m not very good with women. But Sumia’s too polite to tell me if I’ve done something wrong, so could you do that for me, Cordelia? I want to know. I really do.”

Her chest ached. “No. I can’t.”

What was she supposed to say, “I loved you and you never noticed?” “I wanted you and you never asked?” “You’re totally oblivious to the affections of everyone around you?” Or maybe just, “I love you and you proposed to my best friend, and I hate you for it, and I never want to see either of you ever again.”

“I see,” he said. “I’m sorry for asking so suddenly.”

Cordelia was quiet. She felt moody and nasty and old and bitter. She hoped that this wasn’t the kind of person Severa had for a mother. She felt monstrous.


	2. II

II.

 

The tip of her wooden sword cracked like thunder, shot off like an arrow and hit the ground point-first. She had broken three training dummies today, on top of that. Her lip was busted, she had a new bruise under her right eye, and her whole body ached with familiar pains. Clothed up to the neck, she was beaten in places no one could see, and in the early afternoon she knew that she had reached her limit.

Severa dropped her sword, which was battered, but not yet broken. “I’m done. You’ve been sparring all morning, haven’t you? You’re a wreck.” She pointed back to the broken dummies. “And you busted those up, too. What time did you even get here?”

“Before dawn,” Lucina replied.

“Why?”

“I...” She paused. “Because I needed to.”

“No one needs to train that hard. You’re gonna wear yourself out before the battle even begins. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not sure.” Then, she added, “It seems that ever since Cordelia fell ill, everyone’s been under much more pressure than usual.”

“Don’t you dare bring my mother into this!”

“I’m not saying they’re related,” she argued, “I’m just saying that that seems to be what happened. You feel it too, don’t you?”

“It’s not her fault if they can’t pull their own weight.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean already!”

“It’s...” She brought a hand up to her face, massaging her temples. “It’s my parents.”

Severa made a face. “Your parents? What about your parents?”

“They’re fighting. Or at least that’s what it looks like.”

“Fighting? But your parents never fight. What are they fighting over?”

“I wish I knew. That way I’d have some idea of how to help them.”

Severa scowled, suddenly. “Don’t tell me...”

“What?”

“You remember what happened between our mothers in—in our past, right? Their future, maybe, but our past?”

“Severa, no,” Lucina said firmly.

“You don’t think it could happen again?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Lucina, beating stuff up isn’t going to solve anything.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”

“I...” She faltered. “I don’t know, all right? Who knows what they’re thinking? Besides, they’re not going to tell us anything; they never do. The only time we ever hear anything is after the fact. But we can’t let it happen again. That’s why we’re here.”

“I really don’t think it’s quite the same thing, though.”

“So?”

“I mean,” she said, “if we meddle too much, we might make things worse than they already are.”

“How could we? Your parents are fighting; they’ve practically hit rock-bottom by now.”

“I mean... I don’t know if they’re fighting, exactly...”

“Gods, but you are a coward. If you’re not going to do anything about it,” Severa said, stomping back toward camp, “then I will!”

Half a second later she walked straight into her mother.

-

Lucina wasn’t sure of all the details herself, and was certain of only one thing.

“So you’re in love with Chrom, right?” asked Severa.

They had chased Cordelia backed to the medical tent, where she sat dumbly on her bedroll, overwhelmed by her daughter’s forwardness.

“I’m... I don’t see what this has to do with anything...”

“Stupid, this has everything to do with everything. Lucina’s parents are fighting because of you.”

“Severa,” said Lucina, “you know what happened then hasn’t happened yet, right?”

Severa glared at her. Her pigtails swayed. “Yeah, so?”

“I don’t think your mother understands what we’re talking about.”

“Hmph. You,” she said, pointing to her mother, “almost broke up their marriage. In the future, I mean.”

Somehow, Cordelia didn’t seem all that surprised. “How? Why?”

“Because you were jealous, duh.”

“Severa, please...”

“Shut up, Lucina. This affects you too.”

“I never even got the chance to ask you, Lucina,” said Cordelia, “where did you all get those new wounds from? Do you usually get that hurt sparring?”

“That’s exactly my point,” said Severa. “If something that like happens now, you’re going to ruin your friendship all over again and Sumia and Chrom and everyone else will be absolutely miserable, just like you were when you left me. That is not an option.”

“Where does Cynthia figure into all of this?” she asked.

“Has she ever talked to you? Once, even?”

“Well... Actually, I don’t believe she has.”

“Then there’s your answer. She thinks you’re a she-demon. Or an archnemesis. Whichever one is worse.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Lucina murmured. Severa gave her a look. “I mean... I guess, maybe a little...”

“Um,” said Cordelia, “so what happened, exactly?”

“We don’t know,” said Severa. “You wouldn’t tell me, and Sumia wouldn’t tell her kids—well maybe she told Cynthia, and that’s why Cynthia hates you. But the most obvious answer would be that you were having an affair.”

“With Chrom?”

“Who else would you be having an affair with? Sumia?”

“You have a point...”

“Well, whatever. A few weeks after that you told me you had to go fight for what really mattered.”

“I see.” She thought about it, for a moment. “Nothing like that has happened yet, though. I’ve barely even talked to Chrom, much less touched him.”

Lucina grew rigid. Severa elbowed her.

“I’m telling you this for your own good, Mother,” Severa said icily. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Of course, Severa. Oh, and if you don’t mind my asking...”

“What?”

“When are we scheduled to start moving again?”

“Oh,” she said, and made a face. “Lucina, have you heard anything?”

“Tomorrow, I think. We make for the Dragon’s Table.”

Cordelia smiled breezily. “Madness, isn’t it? Here the world is on the verge of destruction, and we’re fretting over a future where everything already lays in shambles... The least we could do is postpone our petty squabbles until we have the time to deal with them.”

“But that’s just it,” said Lucina. “We turn to our so-called ‘petty squabbles’ so we won’t have to think about the future. I’d think about my parents fighting sooner than I’d think about the end of the world.”

“Stop being so fatalistic!” Severa growled. “You,” she said, turning to her mother, “you’re a married woman, so keep your paws off of Chrom, and you,” she turned to Lucina, “you stop being so reckless or I’ll make Robin put you on convoy duty during the next fight.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Hmph. Better than getting yourself killed.”

“Wait, Lucina,” Cordelia said, as they stood up to leave, “I have one more thing to ask.”

She turned toward her. “Yes...?”

“What are your parents fighting over now? It couldn’t be me; I haven’t done anything.”

Lucina shook her head. “I don’t know. They never told me.”

“So... What was the point of telling me all of this?”

Severa and Lucina looked at each other.

“So you don’t cheat?” said Severa. She narrowed her eyes. “I know you’ll be tempted one day.”

She sighed. “You sound so certain of that.”

 -

Later that day Lucina entered her mother’s tent. It seemed like a reasonable enough decision to make; she wanted to make sure that her mother was OK, and she was too intimidated by her father to go up to him right now.

“Mother...”

Sumia had been idly staring at herself in a hand mirror, brushing down her hair. It was dark and and long wavy, and Lucina had always liked the look of it. She had always reached for it as a baby.

She turned around. “Yes?”

“Um... May I come in?”

She beamed. “Of course!”

She slipped through the tent drapes. It was really rather small, given that her mother was royalty, but she supposed that no one had the right to complain about their quarters during wartime.

“Um... There’s something I’d like to ask.”

Sumia put down her comb. “Uh-huh? What is it?”

“It’s about...” She put her head down. “It’s about, um, you and Father.”

“About me and Chrom?” Sumia asked, her expression sobering. “What about us?”

“You aren’t... There isn’t anything going on... between you two, is there? I know it’s rude to ask since you’re my parents, but now that we’re so close, I...”

Sumia laid a hand on her shoulder, and brushed some of the hair out of Lucina’s face. “Lucina, honey, you’re covered in bruises. What happened?”

“I was... I was sparring with Kjelle and Severa this morning.”

“At the same time?”

“No, one after another.”

“Right after the other?”

“I... Yes. That’s what happened.”

“Lucina, you need to take breaks.”

“I was just so worried... about you two. Because...”

“It’s nothing, really. Chrom’s—your father’s—you know. He’s a little... thick, sometimes. He’s a warrior before he’s a diplomat. That’s what Robin’s for, I guess. He’s not very good at dealing with people. Especially women. But it’s no big deal; he’ll get over it.”

“So everything’s really all right? Your marriage is going to last?”

Sumia laughed. “What? Of course! This silly little thing, this is nothing. There’s no way it would break up our marriage.” She squeezed Lucina’s shoulder reassuringly. “I know lots of bad things happened in the future, but I promise they’re not going to happen here, all right? We’ve got your foreknowledge, after all; that has to count for something.”

“Yeah,” Lucina said, and curled up against her mother. “You’re right.”

 - 

In the evening, she visited the medical tent to talk to Cordelia—no, warn her. Lucina was... upset, in a word, of having been reminded of something that could have potentially caused her parents’ deaths, or at least her parents’ reckless behavior, in the future.

Right now, her parents were more naive, friendlier, and they had a genuine sense of hope for the future. This time, at least they thought they had a chance. Lucina wasn’t about to squander that for anything.

“You’re still here,” Lucina said, looking at her.

“They expect me to return to my duties tomorrow, once we start moving again,” Cordelia said. “I suppose my break is over, then. They aren’t going to make me fight, though.”

Lucina furrowed her brow. “Are you feeling better?”

“Is that really what you came here to ask about?” Cordelia asked, and she said it so honestly it hurt.

“You saw right through me.”

“I know you love your father very much. And I want you to know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Sumia. Chrom’s daughter and his wife... They’re just as important to me as Chrom himself.”

“You say that,” Lucina said, guardedly.

“I do say a lot of things, don’t I?”

She grimaced. “I want to believe you, but... knowing what happens...”

“You had the same problem with Robin, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t want to hurt Robin, you have to understand; I only—”

“I know, Lucina. You were only doing what you thought was right. It happens.”

“Sometimes I just don’t know what to do anymore,” Lucina said. She finally walked over to her bedroll and sat down. “With all this knowledge, I mean. It might not even happen. Many things that have happened to me I’m sure will never happen to you. But not knowing which ones will and which ones won’t is the hardest part about this.”

“At this point, all you can do is have faith that Robin and your father will do the right thing,” she said. “You can’t control everything—you’ve already done far more than anyone thought possible.”

“It isn’t enough, though. It’ll never be enough.”

“There’s no reason for me to break up your family, Lucina, I swear.”

She stood up. “How am I supposed to know?” Her voice pitched; it sounded shrill. “You left us. You and everyone else—you left us. You might make promises now, and you might even believe them, but in the end everything fell apart, and I have no reason to trust that you won’t make the same mistakes again. Stay away from him.” She fought back anger, tears, and emotions she thought she had left back in her own Ylisse. “Stay away from him, or you’ll regret it.”

Cordelia smiled in a way that made her stomach lurch. “I understand.”

She left, then. The conversation had only made her feel worse.

 - 

The next day, Lucina was deemed unfit to fight in the battle against Validar, against her protests otherwise, and rather forcefully. She was bruised, and angry, and the anxiety was driving her insane. Her replies were terse. She was unfriendly. She wanted nothing more than to fight and forget about everything that had happened, but deeper down she knew that Robin had been right to keep her here. She would have been a reckless fighter—a liability, even. She felt stupid, and she hated to admit it, but maybe Cordelia was right about one thing: she had done her best. Now, all she could do was wait.

Lucina kept herself busy running errands as the battle raged on. She was strong, and even though her whole body ached from the blows she had taken yesterday, she hardly felt them. Her body may have been at camp, but her mind was on the battlefield, waging war with imaginary Grimleal. She stacked boxes, counted inventory, cleaned stalls, polished armor, sharpened swords, and did whatever else the army staff would allow her to do. She avoided Cordelia. She refused to look up at the sky.

She didn’t, until the shadow of the Fell Dragon rose up over the horizon, and it took the breath from her lungs. A huge, demonic monstrosity, one the size of an island, lay there in the distance, like a newly formed mountain. She almost fell to her knees. She forced herself to stand upright. She chanted five words to herself.

_I say when it ends._

- 

Though he was able to walk, her father returned with serious wounds, and was ushered into the medical tent as soon as he returned to camp. She watched with a mixture of horror and relief as Lissa administered ointment to his largest wound—one burnt, gaping scar across his stomach that had only recently been closed up with healing magic. If they had gotten to him any later, he could have died.

“Father,” she finally said when Lissa was done, “I saw it. I saw Grima.”

“I know,” he said, holding his stomach. “Robin has the Fire Emblem. We’re going to Mount Prism, to petition Naga’s aid. Are you all right with that, Lucina?”

“Yes,” she said briefly.

“And, also...” he added, in a quieter tone, “about your mother... I’m very sorry. I should have known better than to push her. I forgot how stubborn she can be sometimes.”

“Oh.” She could find nothing else to say.

“She thinks she owes Cordelia a debt.”

“Does she.” She didn’t bother to mask the hardness in her voice.

“She won’t tell me why, though.” Chrom shook his head. “She told me it was something between friends. I guess I’ll just have to respect that.”

_It’s because she loves you_ , Lucina thought, and the very idea repulsed her. She was tempted to tell her father the whole story: about Cordelia, about what happened in the future, about their states of mind when they all marched themselves to their deaths. She realized that she was blaming Cordelia for more than she could possibly be accountable for.

She didn’t care that she was, either. Hardly anything had changed. The only wild card here was Robin, and even Robin couldn’t do it all alone.

“Lucina,” he said, insistently, “if you have something to tell me, please say it. No one else will.” There was something harsh about his tone of voice, something both fatherly and strict.

“You love Mother, don’t you?” she said. “You’d never leave her.”

“I would never...” He looked disturbed. “Of course I wouldn’t. I love Sumia—I have for a long time. What are you trying to say?”

“You cheated on her. In the future. With Cordelia. We can’t be sure that’s exactly what happened, because you never told us, but in our future, we know that something happened between you three. Children pay attention; we know, Father. And no matter how hard you try to hide it, we can always tell.”

He said nothing.

Lucina left him, went straight to her tent, and sat and cried for a long time.


	3. III

III.

 

Ever since Severa told her what would happen in the future, Cordelia couldn’t stop thinking about it. It couldn’t be such a bad future if she got to sleep with Chrom, she thought. No, that was unfair. That was unfair to everyone. Her selfishness probably hadn’t helped matters, and Chrom’s lack of discretion couldn’t have helped, either.

More surprisingly, she discovered that she couldn’t bring herself to hate Lucina. She liked Lucina. She was blunt and guileless, and wounded and strong. She acted like someone who was trying to act like Chrom, and failed because her own personality shone through too brightly. She wondered how often she saw Lucina, in her future-past. She wondered if she liked her then as much as she liked her now. Probably not, she guessed. Not after what she did to them.

For all that an apocalyptic scenario seemed to be playing out—their children were more jittery than usual, having seen the effects of Grima’s presence in this world—Cordelia had little reaction to what was going on. She did what she did best: played the part of stable, structuring teammate and good friend. She refused to talk about Chrom, even indirectly. She acted as if she had gotten over Chrom for good.

And then there was Sumia. She couldn’t even imagine betraying her best friend. Sumia had helped her through so much during their days as recruits: she was the only one who would talk to her; maybe she was a little clumsy, but she was sweet and genuine and kind most of all. Cordelia tried to imagine a scenario that would fracture their friendship, and make it so that she felt capable of doing this, but the future was always unpredictable. It would be impossible to tell. Maybe it had been nothing at all.

She couldn’t. She wouldn’t dare. If Sumia hadn’t been there, she would have given up on becoming a knight and gone home to become a housewife. Not here, and not today. She would nip it in the bud before it ever happened.

Today, she was going to tell Chrom.

 

 

 - 

Cordelia was hovering around the medical tent that morning when Panne stopped by.

“You’re always an early riser.”

“I can hear your heartbeat from twenty feet away. What’s gotten into you?” Her tone was patient, motherly. She would have made a better mother for Severa, Cordelia thought in a fit of delirium; when she realized that none other than Chrom would be in there, she panicked and couldn’t bring herself to step inside. She was hardly surprised that Panne could hear her heart pound.

“I’m going to tell him,” she replied, pacing back and forth. “Or at least I thought I was. I can’t. I’m a coward.”

“Oh? Why now?” Panne stood still, in that rabbity way of hers.

“Well, Grima’s been summoned,” she said anxiously. “Now’s a good a time as any, I suppose.”

“You’re lying.”

“I hate that you can tell.”

“What happened?”

“Severa told me that something happened between us in the future.”

“Which would be...”

“It’s awful.”

“The world ended. Of course it is.”

“No I mean...”

Panne sighed. “You’re not going to be able to tell him anything if you’re skittering about like a frightened rat.”

“That’s an ugly comparison.”

“For an ugly state of mind.”

“I don’t know what to do, Panne.”

“You’re married.”

“I know that.”

“If he’s half the man I was led to believe he is, he’ll do the right thing.”

“Did she tell you?”

“Did who?”

“Did Severa?”

“Tell me what?”

“Nothing,” Cordelia said, and Panne shook her head at her. Her ears swayed like pendulums. The seconds ticked by. “I’m going to tell him,” she said again, and stepped toward the tent.

She reeled back. “No, no, I can’t.”

“What did you do in the future?”

The words spilled out of her mouth. “We had an affair. At least I think that’s what happened. That’s what Severa thinks happened, but how does she know what future me was thinking? I don’t even know what was going on then. All I know is that we all died and then Risen took over Ylisstol.”

“You and Chrom had an affair.” She heard amusement in Panne’s voice.

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“No. But it’s a little ironic, considering.”

“Shut up,” she said, and stopped in front of the tent. “Even I have pride. I’d never stoop so low as to become the other woman.”

“Even though you love him?”

“Some days all I want is to destroy them both.” She took a deep breath. “Which is why this needs to end now.” Cordelia left her fear behind, and marched into the tent.

He wasn’t there. She swore under her breath.

“I haven’t heard that one from you before.”

 

 

 -

“Lucina, have you seen your fath—oh goodness, look at your face! Have you been crying?”

She wanted to put on a brave face and say that no, she just had a little dust in her eyes, that was all. She didn’t.

“No, I haven’t.” It had been in response to the first question, so it wasn’t really lying. The world turned to pleasant darkness.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for him. He shouldn’t be walking around when he’s injured like that; he could reopen his wounds.” With every word, Sumia squeezed harder.

“Mother...”

“Yes, Lucina?”

“Can’t... breathe...”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Sumia let go of Lucina’s head, which had been shoved up against her chest in a way that was very mother-like, but inappropriate for a daughter of that age. “Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want me to bake a pie for you?”

“You have better things to do right now than bake pies.”

“I always have time for pie.”

“I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden. You’re my daughter.”

“I’m not hungry, really.”

“We leave for Mount Prism tomorrow, you know. If he gets himself hurt now...”

“Do you want me to help look for him?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“Please, let me help. It’s the least I can do.”

“Well...” she said, but Lucina cut her off.

“I’ll be right back,” She dashed off.

“Wait, but I already looked in that direction!”

 

 

 - 

She found him sitting by the edge of a spring a little ways from camp, sun beating down hard on the water and the hard-packed earth. Tall grass sprouted up around the water, but the spring was too small, too shallow, to give rise to trees and shrubs. The bigger one was in the middle of camp, where everyone went to fetch water. That one may have been prettier, but this one had Chrom.

He turned to face her. “Cordelia?”

“Vaike told me where you were,” she said quickly. “He always seems to know where you are, for some reason.”

“Oh,” he said, and turned back to his reflection in the water.

Cordelia stood. She wasn’t sure what to do now that she had found him. The Plegian afternoon sun was hot, and today it felt hotter than usual. Her mouth felt dry.

“Um,” she said. “So are you coming back?”

“I think I’m going to stay here for a little while longer.”

“Everyone’s worried about you,” she said, and then sat maybe a foot away from him. She was afraid of getting too close, of betraying herself.

“How’s Severa,” he said, but it sounded less like a question than a statement. He seemed distracted, far away. Cordelia wondered if he had caught her fever after all.

“Severa? Oh, she’s... She’s wonderful.”

“Is she?” A ghost of a smile flicked past his face. He continued staring into the water. “You know, Cordelia...”

“Y-yes?”

He shook his head. “No. Never mind.”

She groaned. They were never going to get anywhere like this. “Chrom, I have to tell you something.”

He looked at her then. Her well of confidence dried up just as quickly as it had filled.

“Um.” Her heart began to pound. “But you have to... You can’t...”

He blinked. He looked confused more than anything else. Cordelia wondered if she was making any sense to him. Her mind was blanking.

She buried her face in her hands. “It’s been a while, all right? Just... Just give me a minute.”

“All right?” he said, nonplussed. “Take your time.”

_Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

“Chrom, I love you.”

“Oh,” he said. He looked at the ground. “Oh, uh. You, uh. You what?”

“I mean,” she said, “I... I used to. I’m married now, so I—I mean, I don’t anymore, I just—”

“No, I completely understand. That you’re married. That means—”

“I don’t want to do anything with you; I-I just wanted you to know.”

“I see. Th-that makes sense.”

“So. Uh.” She pulled her legs closer. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time... but... Obviously it’s too late now.”

 _But it’s not too late_ , some part of herself screamed, and Severa’s words came to mind and she remembered Lucina and her angry threats, and the amiable concern she had shown for her during what seemed like forever ago, but was really only a few days ago.

She thought of all the people who had affairs who managed to keep them secret, and no one knew about them except the two parties involved, and the truth had been well-guarded until it faded into oblivion. She wondered what Chrom thought of her, anyway.

“You,” he said, and stared at her. His expression was unreadable. “So this had nothing to do with Sumia?”

“Sumia? What about Sumia? I mean she... She married you.”

“No, I don’t mean about that, I thought she...”

“What? What about her?” Now she was the one who was confused. Why did he have to bring Sumia into this?

“She said that she shouldn’t have married me and that everything was all her fault. And then...”

“What on earth are you talking about?” She stood up. She sounded angry to herself.

Then, somehow, everything started to make sense.

 

 

 -

“Um... Lucina...”

“Mother? You followed me?”

“I needed to talk to you about something, actually. It’s about what you told Chrom.”

“Oh...” She backed away. “Oh, no. Oh, no; I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, shh,” her mother said, approaching her. “It’s all right. Don’t worry.”

“No, it’s not. That was horrible of me. I really shouldn’t have.” She kept her head down. She couldn’t look her mother in the face.

“Well, you definitely inherited my tendency to apologize,” Sumia mused. “But wait. Um, so why don’t we go to your tent? It’s around here, right?”

“My tent? If you say so.”

Her tent wasn’t very large, but it offered privacy enough to carry on what promised to be a very uncomfortable conversation. They sat down on the ground.

“We had a long talk, after you told him what Severa thinks happened back then, about our marriage, and our future, and about you.”

Lucina shifted in discomfort. She didn’t like the way this conversation was going; she didn’t want to know where it was headed. She looked anywhere but directly at her mother.

“And I got to thinking... This really can’t go on, you know? Especially if it leads to a future like that. I mean, it probably wasn’t the cause of your future—that’s not fair to say—but Cordelia’s my friend, and regardless of what might have happened to you, she’s not the same person now as she was in your future, just as I’m not the same mother you have now as you had then. You understand that, right?”

She tossed her hair away from her face. “Y... Yes, I do. But what are you...”

“Suggesting? Nothing. But I want you to accept her for whatever happens. Besides...” She bit her lip. “It might not have been her fault that it happened...”

“What?” Lucina nearly leapt to her feet. “What could you possibly mean? You had nothing to do with it! It was all her and Father. You’re the victim here!”

“Wait, Lucina, listen...”

 

 

 - 

It had been during their days as Shepherds, while patrolling Ylisstol in the spring, that Sumia found the book. It was nothing more than a silly court romance, a story about a man and a woman and another woman, and how the two women fought over the man. Sumia read it until the binding began to come apart. Cordelia had finished it all of once, and had never touched it again.

She mentioned it again in the fall, while they were busy polishing their armor in the barracks.

“You know that story I read,” she said, “about the prince and the two women that he loved?”

“Yes,” Cordelia responded testily. “What about it? You’ve read it a thousand times; you’ve practically memorized the thing.”

“Well, I was just wondering...”

“Wondering what?”

“Well... The women didn’t start out hating each other. In fact they were the best of friends! It was their shared love for him that eventually turned them into—horrible, ugly, green-eyed monsters. Harpies!”

“And...?”

“And it made me think about... how awful jealousy must be and—I don’t know, why couldn’t they stay friends?”

“It’s a romance novel. There has to be some conflict for there to be a plot.”

“I thought love was supposed to be a positive thing, though.”

“It isn’t always.”

“Cordelia,” she whined, and balled her hands into fists. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I mean, what if that happens to us?”

“To us?”

“What if we—and—I want to stay friends with you! I don’t want us to be broken apart over something like that. What are we supposed to do?”

“I... I really don’t know. I’ve never had any experience with anything like that.”

“That’s no good. Help me think of something!”

“Honestly, Sumia...”

“He likes them both, right?” she said. “And if they stayed friends, then maybe...”

“You can’t be thinking of—what I’m thinking of.” Cordelia made a face.

“Well... Why not? It’s better than the prince getting murdered in a fit of jealous rage at the end. That’s terrible!”

“But Sumia—”

“Are you saying you don’t like me?”

“That’s... That’s not what I meant.”

 

 

 -

“Wait, before you say anything,” said Cordelia. “Let me guess.”

“O... OK?” Chrom said. He was... nervous? Cordelia had never seen him quite so antsy before.

“She suggested a threesome.”

“Ah.” His mouth hung open slightly. It would have seemed cute, if it didn’t make him look so daft. “You’re... right. How did you know that?”

“It was just a wild guess."

“So in the future—”

“What about the future?”

“No, never mind.”

“No, Severa told me the same thing.”

“Wait, what about Severa?”

“Lucina didn’t—”

“She said we had an affair.”

“Then... What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," he said, looking at her. "I just know that we can't let it happen again."

"Whatever the case,” she said, offering him a hand up, “I’m sorry we’ve caused you so much trouble. I’ll talk her out of this stupid idea before she tries to... seduce me or something.”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Chrom would probably never look at them the same way again.

“Just... One more thing,” he said as he stood up, and looked at her.

Strangely, she was feeling much more relaxed now. “Yes, Chrom?”

“Even though this situation is... beyond reprehensible, I still have to thank you—for everything you’ve done for my wife. She wouldn’t be the same person she is now, if it weren’t for you.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Are you sure you want to say that?”

He smiled at her, and it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “Yes. I do.”

 

 

-

_Meet me on the training grounds before dawn._

Lucina didn’t recognize the script, but it looked fairly neat, and strangely somehow average. She would have mistaken it for Stahl’s handwriting, though she assumed Stahl’s would have been messier. It was good, but it wasn’t great. Then again, you could say that about a lot of things.

As she headed over to the training grounds, she didn’t consider whether it could have been a trap. Instead, she wondered who the handwriting belonged to. Severa would be the type to challenge her to a duel, but Severa would never opt to leave a note: she would simply bark at Lucina in person and then expect her to show up. Kjelle might leave a note, but duels between them weren’t anything particularly special. Cynthia only seriously dueled other people on mounts, and she couldn’t imagine any of the boys challenging her. Or at least, not with that handwriting. Still, she brought Falchion along just in case.

She wasn’t surprised to see who was standing in the center of the grounds.

“Lucina,” she said, and her tone was the kind of casual it had not been for a very, very long time. “You finally showed up.”

“I never turn down a fight.”

“So how about we make a bet?” Her expression was difficult to make out in the darkness. “I beat you, and you forget about this affair business and start treating me like a regular human being again.”

“And if I beat you...?”

“You can do whatever you want with me. Outside of killing me, of course. You can humiliate me, or beat me, or do whatever else your conscience will allow. I think you’ve deserved that much, at least.” She held her training lance aloft. Its length would give her the advantage in this fight, but the odds were stacked against her. She was used to fighting on a mount, and she had none. It seemed as if she were setting herself up for failure.

“If you just want to apologize,” said Lucina, “you don’t have to go through the trouble of doing all this, you know.”

“I don’t intend to lose.”

Lucina jumped out of the way of an offending lance tip, and parried it with her own sword. Cordelia dodged her stab effortlessly. She was like a completely different person. “You’re trying to take away everyone I love, aren’t you?” she sneered, and even to her ears it sounded ridiculous. “You’re just as bad as Grima.”

Their weapons smacked against each other, wood on wood. As the sun began to rise, Cordelia smiled. “Am I? You want to make me your archnemesis too?”

Lucina hit flesh, and sidestepped away from a thrust of her lance. “How about I make it so that you can never walk again? I’ll break your legs in half.”

“Big words coming from a little girl.”

“I am not a little girl.” The lance shaft slashed her side. Lucina jabbed it away, and made a downward slash toward her shoulder. It hit bone, and loudly.

Cordelia was indomitable. “I talked to your mother.”

“Are you sure that’s all you did?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The tip of her lance swiped her chest, and she jumped out of the way. As she lifted her sword up, Cordelia brought her lance down against it. Lucina resisted the pressure.

“You ruined them both.”

“I know we’ll probably never be friends, but...”

Lucina let go, and blocked. “But what?”

“This is what I told her,” she said, and as she relaxed Lucina brought her sword down hard on her lance. The wooden shaft snapped off. “I told her that she loved Chrom more than I ever could, and that she deserved him more than anyone else in the world.”

“So is this my win?”

Cordelia flicked her wrist violently, and Lucina tripped over something beneath her legs. Something pointed and sharp dug under her chin. If it was pushed any closer, it would draw blood.

“Let’s call it a draw.”

Lucina clutched the broken end of the lance, grinning. “That doesn’t help either of us, does it?”

“I don’t think I could change your mind, anyway.” She pushed harder.

Lucina yanked it out of the way, and drove the broken lance into the ground before standing upright. She unsheathed Falchion at her side, and held it aloft, as if she were pointing it at an enemy. Then she dashed forward and brought it up over her head.

Just as she was about to bring it down on her, she let the sword fall from her hands. It fell with a thump onto the ground.

She laughed. She couldn’t stop laughing. “Gods... This is just like one of Mother’s bad romance novels.”

“Lucina...?” Cordelia looked pale, and maybe a little bewildered.

She shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. “No. You win this time. You win.” She couldn’t breathe. “My parents are such idiots, aren’t they?”

“Well, yes,” Cordelia said thoughtfully, “but they’re your parents, and they’re here, and they love you more than anything else in the world. I’d say you have it pretty good, all things considering.”

Lucina picked up Falchion and sheathed it and stared at Cordelia for a long, hard while. “Um,” she finally said. “I’m sorry I almost killed you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your advice.”

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You told me to take care of myself.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

“You did, but I didn’t. I shouldn’ve listened to you after all.”

Lucina made a complicated face. Cordelia, stubborn as she was, was finally conceding that she had done something wrong, but it wasn’t the thing that she had done wrong, but she couldn’t possibly apologize for it because she hadn’t even done it yet, and had even tried to prevent it from happening in this timeline, not to mention her mother’s... contribution to the whole matter. She had lost.

It didn’t feel like a bad loss, though.

“Well,” she finally said, looking away, “if Mother thinks it’s OK...”

“L-Lucina?”

“Then I think I’m ready to let this one go.” She looked at Cordelia, and suddenly felt very young, and very small, and very unsure of herself. “Can we... Can we make a fresh start? I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t think there’s any point in dwelling on them. Not when we’ve got so much at stake.”

Cordelia stared at her until she blushed.

Then she smiled. “Of course we can.”


End file.
